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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742364">if i crash on the couch/can i sleep in my clothes?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlelupin/pseuds/Doodlelupin'>Doodlelupin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Mentioned Sasha James, POV Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Panic Attacks, Pining, i really dont know what else to tag this as haha, just a little bit, kidnapping mention?, scar discussion, tims drunk and a little wistful</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:47:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlelupin/pseuds/Doodlelupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim was out late. He's a bit drunk, reminiscing and trying not to wake Jon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if i crash on the couch/can i sleep in my clothes?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>takes place near the end of season 3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tim shut the door behind him, trying to be quiet. Jon had needed someplace to stay after he decided he didn’t want to endanger Georgie and Tim...well Tim was already in danger, wasn’t he? There were better ways for Jon to spend his time than looking for a flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim had offered. Jon’s shock mirrored his own. He still hadn’t forgiven Jon for...everything. Stalking him. Not being able to protect Sasha. Christ, even hiring them in the first place-their entire situation was his fault. He had been doing just fine in Research.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the man did need a place to stay. And what was he going to do, stalk him from inside his own flat? Jon seemed like he was over that phase, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had paused, sighed and asked Jon if he wanted to stay at his place. He was surprised at himself. He didn’t know he was capable of kindness anymore, especially not towards Jon. But there he was, knight in shining armour as always. So Jon was staying at his flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim could tell he was trying to take up as little space as possible, and honestly? He was glad. Jon could stay there but he didn’t really want him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>live</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. Tim still didn’t like him. He thought hate might be a strong word. Emotions were so hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Research, they had started out working next to each other silently, Tim’s only motivation was to figure out what had happened to his brother. He was quiet. Someone who had met him a year ago would say uncharacteristically so. He wasn’t standoffish but he didn’t particularly care to chat with anyone. He was worried about getting too close and having to watch them be ripped from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon snuck his way into friendship. Stumbled, perhaps. Tim wasn’t sure Jon had really intended it either. They simply happened to be the best suited for the job. Tim was constantly having to correct others’ work, and Jon was no exception, but his slip-ups stemmed from excitement, passion for the work leading him to be a little sloppy in his write-ups. After a few too many reprimands, Jon had asked Tim to give his work a once over before he submitted it. “Just this once” which turned into “One more time?” Which turned into a consistent editing job on top of his current one. Tim didn’t mind it. Jon had a way with words, even with research. Even if he messed up a name or a date once or twice, it was always a pleasant read (potential subject matter aside).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that they were bonding over spooky stories and coworker gossip, soon adding Sasha to the mix. He missed it, honestly. Drinks after work, crashing at one of their houses and showing up the next day dishevelled and hungover, still pumping out better work than </span>
  <em>
    <span>David</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Their coworkers probably thought the three of them were dating. If Tim was being completely honest with himself… there was a time when he wished they had been. How could he help it? Sasha was stunning and Jon was attractive in a ‘I haven’t slept in three days’ sort of way. And of course they were both incredibly smart, and witty, and- Tim didn’t want to think about this anymore. It was just depressing. He refused to get close to someone again. He didn’t want to think fondly back on old memories and trick himself into thinking Jon was someone he could care about again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon had </span>
  <em>
    <span>stalked</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. That was terrifying in a whole new way. Tim knew he was having a rough time, they all were. And it couldn’t be easy, knowing your predecessor had been shot dead. But this insane betrayal of trust was something Tim just wasn’t prepared for. And yet! He had still tried to play it off, to joke about it and act like everything could be fine again-act like Jon wasn’t making him terrified to fall asleep, like he wasn’t constantly wracking his brain to remember if he had given Jon a key to his flat, like he could focus on work when he knew that not only was there a murderer likely in the Institute, not only had he almost been killed by worms, not only did he hurt all over for weeks, but that the man sitting in the room across the hall had lost all trust in him to the point where he felt like he needed to follow him to catch him, what plotting Jon’s murder?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were moments when Tim wished he was actually capable of it. He wasn’t going to, obviously. But sometimes he wished he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim pulled himself out of his thoughts, slipping out of his boots and staggering down the hall. He had been out at the pub for hours. It wasn’t like he needed to be at work particularly early the next day; what was Elias going to do, fire him? He dropped his bag and his jacket as he walked down the hallway. He’d pick them up later. He had to pass by the living room to get to the bathroom. He couldn’t help but peek in to see if Jon was sleeping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was. He had a file on his chest and his glasses still on. He had fallen asleep working, of course he had. The amount of times Tim had had to drag Jon home from work… He couldn’t help a small smile. They had both changed quite a bit, but fundamentally? Jon was still Jon. Tim rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, gently pulling the file from his hands and setting it on the coffee table. He did the same with his glasses, pulling the blanket up around him properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim watched Jon for a moment. Who was the creepy one now? He almost laughed aloud. There was something different about him. He was so calm, so relaxed. No tension in his shoulders, his brow unfurrowed, no fear in his eyes; he was almost unrecognizable. Aside from the scars, of course. He had so many. Tim didn’t even know when he’d gotten most of them. The worm scars, he obviously knew about. But Jon had shown up to work after almost a month of no contact with red marks around his wrists, extra jumpy. He had a new one across his neck and the palm of his right hand looked like it’d been burned </span>
  <em>
    <span>badly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he could keep his damn mouth shut, when he didn’t remind him so much of Tim’s own problems? Tim felt sorry for him. He’d clearly been through a lot more than Tim knew about. Seeing him like this made something in Tim’s chest hurt. Tim turned away, heading off to brush his teeth. He could only allow himself so much compassion. He didn’t want to get too close again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was rinsing his toothbrush off when he heard a crash from the living room. His heart and his brush dropped. He sprinted out of the bathroom. Jon was on the floor beside the couch, whimpering and gasping for breath, fighting against the blanket and clutching at his face, his neck, his chest, his wrists…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon-Jon, what’s wrong?” He asked, rushing over. Jon scrambled away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who-where-I-I-I” He stammered, still fighting for breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s me, it’s Tim. Breathe, Jon. You’re- you’re safe. You’re at my flat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C-Can’t- Can't see,” He gasped. Tim grabbed his glasses off the table and unfolded them for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I took your glasses off because you fell asleep. Relax, Jon. Here.” Tim reached towards him slowly. Jon flinched hard. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Tim said softly. He tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He hated seeing Jon like this. He wanted him to go back to being hateable. This was just...sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon opened and closed his mouth, floundering for something to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, relax.” Tim said. “Can I give you a hug? Would that help?” He asked. He still hadn’t been able to give him his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- um…” Jon was looking around desperately, unable to stop his hands from jumping between his various scars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to hug you now.” Tim said, pausing for a moment to let him object. He did not, so Tim slid himself closer. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Jon, holding his arms in place between their chests, hoping the pressure would help calm him. He held him tighter when he flinched again, trying to push Tim off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, Jon. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe. You’re alright. I’m here, okay? I’m here.” He murmured, tipping his head down closer to Jon’s ear. “Breathe with me.” He took slow, deep breaths to set an example, a harsh contrast to Jon’s panicked gasps. He was still struggling against Tim’s hold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re safe, I promise. I’ll let you go once you’ve calmed down, alright? I need you to breathe for me, Jon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I-” Jon stammered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In. Out.” Tim said firmly. “In. Out. In. Out.” He continued until Jon could match him, taking slow, shuddering breaths. Slowly, they dissolved into sobs. Jon slumped against Tim, crying into his chest. Tim loosened his grip and Jon took the opportunity to cling to him. Tim rubbed his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alright. You’re okay.” He soothed. He set his glasses back down on the coffee table. “Can I sit you on the couch?” He asked. Jon nodded. Tim slipped an arm under his legs, lifting him as he got to his feet. He was definitely still drunk, tottering slightly under Jon’s weight. He sat down on the couch, letting Jon rest with his legs over Tim’s lap, hands bunched in Tim’s shirt. Tim resumed rubbing his back with one hand, his arm wrapped protectively around Jon, using the other to untangle him from the blanket. Jon was still trembling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want the blanket still?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-Only if it’s loose…” He replied, his voice hoarse. Tim nodded, gently draping the blanket over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some water?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-uh…” Jon gulped. “I do...but I, um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don't want me to go?” Tim asked softly. Jon looked down. “That’s alright. I’ll stay.” He shifted so his back was to the arm of the couch, Jon sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. Jon let his head rest against Tim’s shoulder, still sniffling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Tim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. This one was my fault, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-It’s just that I woke up and-and I didn’t know where I was and I couldn’t see anything and the blanket got tangled and I- I thought-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Tim repeated, gentler this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t take my glasses off anymore. I...can't take any chances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If...If you’re here then I’m alright.” Jon replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Tim hoped he couldn’t hear his heartbeat speed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Get some sleep then.” Tim said, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair. Jon closed his eyes. He looked so sad. Tim rested his cheek against the top of Jon’s head, hugging him close with one arm and continuing to comb through his hair with the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his foot to make sure he stayed awake. He closed his eyes, listening to Jon’s breathing shift from the occasional sniffle to a soft snore. When he was certain he was asleep, he let his foot still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim still didn’t forgive him for any of it; he doubted he ever would. He didn’t want to watch him get hurt, though. Not anymore.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title is from The Sharpest Lives by MCR</p><p>(i cant stop thinking about the hug thing....not necessarily recommended to hug someone if you cant tell if they want it or not tim was just trying to stop him moving his hands and knows pressure is good if jon looked seriously in distress about it he'd let go ok disclaimer over thank u)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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